


Ghost of an Imaginary Friend

by FrostWraith333



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostWraith333/pseuds/FrostWraith333
Summary: Winter has run from her past since she was six years old, and has lost more than she can move on from. After finding the only friend she has left, Varric Tethras, and getting shoved into a life where she must lead an army to survive, Winter finds that although her past won't stay behind her where it belongs, maybe this time she won't have to face it alone.---A kind young man who was just as lost as she is now, reaches for her hand and, swallowing down the broken fragments of her heart, she extends to him more trust than she thought she was capable of and finds something new and terrifying held in the palm of his hand. Something her shattered soul didn't know it could feel anymore. Love.---
Relationships: Cole & Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Cole & Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Cole (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s), Cole (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Cole (Dragon Age)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Those who had sought to claim  
> Heaven by violence destroyed it.  
> What was Golden and pure turned black.  
> Those who had once been mage-lords,  
> The brightest of their age,  
> Were no longer men, but monsters  
> -Threnodies 12:1

Deep in the heart of the blizzard, a young elven woman was hiding.

The snow pelted her face, wind whistling through her senses. The trees shook violently, shedding shards of ice onto the ground by her feet. Her eyes, sparkling like glistening sapphires through the darkness, narrow in an attempt to see through the blowing snow. Shadows cast from the starless night sky, like a thick blanket, make seeing through the storm next to impossible. The ancient ruins that lay before her grow more eerie as time passes.

With her intricately carved bow still slung around her shoulders, she pulls her cloak tighter around herself, the biting winds seeping through every layer. She shivers, her feet numb in her leather boots that, even though were thigh-high, still managed to be buried halfway by snow. Not only was moving made difficult, but hunting proved to be even more so, and she knew with every fibre of her being that she should quit now and wait until dawn or at least until the storm cleared.

But she couldn't. She was starving. This had to be done now.

Moving with the grace and stealth of a predator, she shifts closer to the edge of the ruins. The stone under her feet gives way only a step ahead to a giant pit in the ground, surrounded by short, crumbling walls that she imagined were once magnificent, and sliding sedimentary rock. Staircases, more or less falling apart, line the sides of the pit. The only safe way down.

The inside of the pit held her goal; two tall pillars create an archway that leads into a tunnel. It was lit up like a beacon in the darkness. The faint sound of gruff voices and low singing could be heard from inside.

She could smell the meat they were cooking over a fire, and she assumed that if it weren't for the storm, these careless bandits would've been attacked by bears or a pack of hungry wolves by now. From what she could tell, every able man and women stayed inside the cave, leaving no outer defence. She begins to doubt if these really were the bandits she spotted the day before and followed to this area. Those bandits moved in perfect formation and struck as a team; every move carefully planned and evaluated. She figured that they were either drunk or more than just bandits.

She glances once at the dull glow of her destination before skulking cautiously around the edge of the pit, constantly keeping herself on high alert. Once she finds the closest thing she can to a quiet yet careful way down, she stops and listens.

She concludes that even if she were to lose her balance and make a sudden loud noise, they wouldn't be able to hear it. All sound was either being muffled by the storm or completely blocked out, giving her the chance she needs to get this job done well. Crawling off the edge, she doesn't feel her feet hit the stone roof-like structure beneath her, but she knows when it's safe to let go and slide down to the built-up wooden ledge below. She crouches close to the ground to remain balanced and steady her fall, landing successfully in silence - or what she could only assume was silence.

All her senses were being overloaded by biting winds and the feeling of frostbitten fingers touching melting or unforgiving ice and snow. Taking a breath to calm her now racing heart, she climbs down the ladder, cringing at every creak the wood made, as well as the sharp chips of ice digging into her flesh. The bandits didn't seem to notice anything, not even when she lands on the floor of the pit, snow crunching and exploding in puffs like smoke around her feet. The various buckles on what little leather she wore, rattle as she settles back into silence.

Down in this area, the air was clearer and easier to see through, allowing her a perfect view of what lies beyond that tunnel. She could make out the flickering fire and a bulky figure hovering to the left of it as they ate. Their back was turned and she could see no one else who would have a view of what was happening outside their little sanctuary. For now.

The freshly fallen powder muffles her sprint before she crouches down beside the entryway. Grasping her bow tightly, she draws an arrow, gently touching the end of it to her tattooed cheek to steady her shot. Mumbling out an enchantment, the arrow begins to glow for only a moment, magic infusing it from the inside out, leaking through every splinter in the wood.

The world around her stills, crystal white hair whipping in tendrils around her face, trying to block her sight but she won't be distracted, not when she was so close. Aiming the arrow directly at the bulky figure's middle, she releases, watching almost in slow motion as it shafts him directly through his centre, and then explodes.

Chunks of what was once a man fly around the cave and she hears the thudding of the impact of flesh against flesh, screams and shouts of horror echoing through the small space. The wind picks up and carries the sounds of terror as she charges inside, her bow trickling over with frost while she readies another arrow. She takes only a second to survey the room, noting the chair and table in the corner, the fire, bookshelf and the five bodies littering the space. Everything was covered in blood.

The three remaining bandits that she could see, get back to their feet, drawing their weapons. But it was too late, she was too fast. An axe comes sweeping down in an arc at her head from the left and she whips around, her back bending as she leans to dodge. With a skilled twist that comes from many years of rolling around in rouge training, she has an arrow stuck in her attacker's leg. The same arrow ripples with energy, electric shocks flying out of the wound in sparks of blood that leave him paralyzed.

Moving with the swift agility of a trained fighter, she turns and fires another arrow directly into the centre of his spine, the currents of energy running up the length of his body and into the brain stem, leaving his mind unable to function. He passes out, collapsing into a convulsing pile of limbs on the floor. An arrow that's not her own zips past her ear, clattering off the stone beside her head. Grabbing her first victim that was somehow clinging to the remaining strings of life, she heaves him up to block another fired arrow. Not taking the time to glance for the direction of the one shooting at her, she just throws the limp body forward, feeling as it tumbles into someone who gasps in surprise and pain.

They're forced to the floor, the literal dead weight on top of them keeping them down for a length of time just long enough for the elven girl to make sure they don't get back up. Her fingers curl into a fist that ignites in a flame of pure frost and bitter air. Reaching across the Veil, she feels power stretch down her arm and in through her veins as she prepares her spell. Releasing at the last second before the bandit manages to topple the body off, the entire floor is coated with a thick layer of ice that locks both the struggling bandit and the body to the ground. Soon, the one still living would suffocate and freeze.

Now, to deal with the last remaining man. When she spins to face him, he's picking himself up off the ground, one foot stuck under the ice. He growls as his hands begin to glow bright red. An apostate, lovely.

Pressing his hands to the ice around his ankle, the air begins to hiss as steam comes up in whisps around him. The ice pools around his feet, freeing him as he summons another spell.

The girl is faster, releasing an arrow into his hand, pinning it to the wall behind him. He cries out in pain, moving to stand, but the water running around his feet begins to solidify again, crawling up his leg and down his arms. He attempts to summon another fire attack but she casts a mana surge around him like a popping bubble, draining what she hoped was most of his power. With a flick of her wrist, the arrow surrounds itself with a barrier of energy. His entire body convulses and she uses this as a chance to shift the ice up until it coats his entire body.

He doesn't struggle. He doesn't breathe. He doesn't melt the ice. Everything goes still. Despite her strong ability to kill, that didn't mean she did so without remorse. She hated herself every moment she lived to take another life, and once the initial feeling of power wears off, guilt grips onto her stomach and holds it tight, refusing to let her forget what she just did. She will remember. She remembers them all.

The elven girl stops, takes a deep breath and lets herself shake away the feeling of death all around her. Slipping on the floor a couple times, she slings the bow over her shoulders and begins to search every small space for as much as she could take.

She only turns to leave when she knows that there isn't anything left that was worth her time. The bag hanging at her hip was full of small pouches that were adorned with small, odd symbols stitched into the soft fabric. It resembled an eye being stabbed through with a sword, coloured with green thread and beautiful gold inlay.

Shrugging off the feeling that she knows that symbol from somewhere, she makes to leave when suddenly, a sharp, cold pain rattles her bones. She gasps at the agony zig-zagging up her spine. She screams, spinning around to fight back. Out of pure instinct, a cold frost rises from the ground up, flash-freezing the women in battle position. She was poised to strike, an arrow just inches away from her neck. Once the numbness of anger and the instinct of attack passes, she collapses into herself with a cry, dropping to her knees.

She claws at her back, managing to pull out the dagger that went deep into her flesh. Just an inch more to the left and it would've hit her spine. It hurt like hell.

She curses herself for her inability to perform healing magic as she tries to reach to apply pressure, the position too straining. She bites back another cry, her chest heaving as she wills her body to numb over with a frostbite spell she learned years and years ago. Nothing happened.

She glances down at the bloodied weapon, noticing small flickers of blue peeking out from under the crimson colour. A shade of blue she recognizes all too well. It had been enchanted with a rare poison that didn't only drain mana but took away the abilities of a mage almost completely. She wasn't sure how it worked but she remembered the last time it got into her system. It was like she was back in her childhood years, learning to harness and control her magic all over again. What little magic she still had left, anyway.

She resorts to tearing off a bit of one of the bandits clothing, wrapping it around her waist and tying it as tight as possible without it restricting her movement. She stumbles to her feet, pain racking at her back as her body protests. She didn't care, she needed to get back to her shelter to tend to her wound before she bleeds out. She was already feeling a little faint.

Taking one last glance at the blood-stained ice surrounding her, she steps back into the storm.

Tripping over her feet with the first few steps, she stabilizes and somehow manages her journey back to shelter, despite the climbing and trudging through all the snow.

The small outcropping with a firepit she called home wasn't much of a shelter, she had to admit, but it would keep her warm, dry and more or less safe for the few days she's going to remain. Until that point of packing up and leaving, this was her home and she was proud of it.

The storm took it's toll on her, whipping her around at every turn, ice pelting her eyes while snow slows her movements. When she manages to get out of it and into her small cave-like area, she feels relieved, despite the agonizing pain in her back. Snow dusted the entrance to her shelter, having been swept inside by the wind, but luckily it hadn't reached the fire pit or her makeshift bed.

The air still bites at her skin and she glances longingly at the embers that had long since gone out. She didn't want to have to lean down and do this.

For any normal mage, starting a fire would be as easy as snapping their fingers, but for this young elven woman, she had to use methods that mostly included rubbing sticks against other sticks. After what happened to her family when she was just a little girl, she promised herself that she would never use or learn any sort of fire magic. It turned out to work quite well in the end, for her name matches her perfectly.

Winter.

Of course, when she was named that, she knew that it had to have something to do with her skin that was too pale yet covered in freckles, clear blue eyes that sparkled like ice, and her crystal white hair. She was also told that supposedly, to avoid giving birth to a mage child you shouldn't conceive in winter, which of course was utter nonsense. However, she knew her mother believed in that and never tried for a child when the snow had stuck to the ground.

She feared a mage child would instantly be taken from her, and no mother wants to go through the pain of losing their baby for something that was out of their control. So her mother forced her to hide her magic from such a young age, she grew up constantly forgetting she even had it.

It was a little ironic really for her mother wasn't the one to name her. Not the second time anyway.

Food that night was kept to a minimum. She made sure to have plenty left over, but still enough to satisfy. She sits beside the flames, using the flickering amber glow to guide her movements as she tends to her wound. Having to twist around just to see it proved to be a difficult task, but she managed. Pain is an old friend.

The injury was located just below the painted tattoo she was given when she was born. Her entire family had the same one, located on the parts that her mother thought were the most structurally beautiful. While her big brother had his down his left arm, curling around his wrist, her mother decided it was best to draw her's up her back, starting from the dimple just below the curve of her spine and snaking up to the blade of her shoulder.

The tattoo was always a flock of birds. It was a family tradition.

According to stories from when she was a child, she was fascinated by owls from the moment she was old enough to realize that the strange sounds she heard at night weren't monsters. So, she has a flock of owls flying up her back as a result. Her mother had nightingales, and her brother had crows. She was told that her father had a group of chickens on his back because he was a farmer, which she finds quite humorous. She figures that it could've just been a joke for she would have no way of knowing.

Twisting the glass amulet dangling around her neck, shaped to match the tattoo on her back - snowy owls flying across the moon - between her fingers, she takes an unsteady breath to prepare as she rests her hand on her injury and applies a gentle pressure. She needed to close the wound and stop the bleeding.

Placing a loose piece of wood between her teeth to avoid biting out her own tongue, she closes her eyes and feels a rush of power surge through her veins, into her hand. Her wound begins to burn closed as she bites back a scream. The only bit of fire magic she learned wasn't even really fire at all but a spell taught to her by a healer that was meant to close up wounds using heat. It doesn't count as fire magic.

The rest of the night was spent sat beside the small flame, used as a feeble attempt to keep herself warm. The pain had faded but she didn't sleep. She never slept anymore. The only rest she got were fleeting glimpses into the Fade, followed by a nightmare, than a rude awakening. She found it best to just avoid sleep as much as possible - she never really rested anyway.

Winter was staring at the dancing flames, expression arid when the once peaceful night, turned into a waking nightmare. It started with a simple "thud", like the stomp of a giant deep within the mountains. It set her on high alert, and when the second stomp echoed through the mountain range, it rattled through her very bones. She shot up from her spot on the ground, stepping out the flames so she was enveloped by darkness. Everything became silent, apart from the sounds of her heavy, tense breathing.

What happened after that, happened too fast for her to comprehend what was going on at first. The cave wall itself seemed to split in two as waves of darkspawn began pouring out like spilling blood. There were so many, too many to count. Savage beasts charging directly at her with no sense of mercy - she was too injured to fight back.

And at that moment, she felt everything change.

She reaches through her veins and taps into the deepest reserves of mana and power her body had to offer. The mana the curse couldn't get to. The raw power she was born with. She felt stronger than ever before as the blizzard began to bend and shape to her will.

The wind twists, hurlocks getting sucked into the vortex and thrown into walls. Their smaller counterparts, the genlocks, were struck in the face over and over again by chunks of ice. The entire area was layered with snow so high, the smallest of the darkspawn began to suffocate. Bigger ones flash froze before they could even leave the cave.

Winter was running. She didn't know when or how, but she was sprinting as fast as her exhaustion and injury would allow her. She didn't stop moving until the garbled sounds of darkspawn screaming, roaring and hissing echoed from the distance. She collapses to her knees in the snow, leaning down so she didn't have to acknowledge the world around her, and she cries as the entire weight of the day crashed down over her mind like a tidal wave.

Hunting down men, slaughtering them like nothing, the pure corruption on the darkspawn's faces as they ran at her, the loss of all control and the feeling of power she had dreaded all her life...it all flashed past in waves of new emotions. Anger, sadness, pain, fear, all of it burned into her soul at the same moment.

Was it minutes? Hours? Days? She didn't care. She cried. She just cried.

She has always been able to hold back and use her magic only when there was no way for it to be seen, or unless it was absolutely necessary. This situation proved the latter, but she had no idea she was even capable of something like that. That feeling, like she could destroy an entire mountain with the snap of her fingers, she hated it. It always leads to corruption and she swore on her mother that she would never turn into one of them. Never one of them.

She feels fear rush through her, coating every other emotion like spilling ink, blanking everything else out.

Anyone even close to the mountains would've felt that dramatic change in weather and drawn some conclusions. She wasn't safe here any longer, but where was she to go? She needed help before daybreak; she was in no condition to travel anywhere, especially if she didn't have a known destination. Which she doesn't.

Was she going to die here?

"My Lord! We found her!" A drawling yet forceful voice, swept up by the wind and carried away, can just be heard over the storm, still stirring in abnormal whisps above her head no matter what she tries to do to stop it.

She doesn't allow her hopes to rise. It is very possible these aren't good people. Templars even. That would just be the icing on this cake from hell.

"Are you sure it's her?" Another voice, raspy and deeper than anything she's ever heard before as it rumbles their vocal cords, sounds from an even shorter distance away.

She's not entirely sure whether it's the storm or the man's gravely, dangerous voice that sends a shiver down her spine, causing the injury to pulse out an agonizing pain. She tries to bite back any noise, but a small yelp escapes, making it even easier for these strangers to get to her. She's managed to silence her tears but of course, she wasn't that lucky. "Look at the snow. It's being manipulated by her even now. Does she have no sense to hide?"

The first voice comments in a very unwelcome tone, causing her to grit her teeth. She makes no attempt to move, knowing that trying to fight will only make things worse for her than they were already going to be.

Out in the distance, coming into focus are five Templar soldiers, or what look to be Templar soldiers. They wear armour that's similar, but darker. Almost black, like the one a Lord Seeker would wear, although these didn't bare the symbol. Capes, tattered like they've been torn by sharp claws, billowing in the wind's odd patterns, give them all a silhouette of dangerous intent. Who or what are these people?

They clearly aren't here to help, swords drawn by their sides, pointed in Winter's direction. "Look at her eyes, she's a strong one. Be on your guard" a third one speaks up, his voice more high pitched. She doesn't care to know what they look like, keeping her eyes focused on the ground; even more so after that comment. "Your orders, My Lord?" The very first one asks. She can hear him directly to her left, hovering over her. "Just kill her like the o-"

"Wait" The one with the extremely deep voice cuts himself off. He now stood exactly in front of her. His steel boots buried deep in the snow come into view. He crouches down enough that she can see the smug smirk on the man's grim face. "Oh Winter, you thought you could run from me forever, didn't you my sweet little Snowflake?"

Her heart drops into the pit of her stomach. The tears wanted to return but she held them back. She would not cry; not in front of this bastard who deserves nothing from her or from anyone. How could she have been so deaf as to not recognize his haunting voice? She was almost tempted just to spit in his face so he would kill her now because she knows that whatever he is going to do with her is bound to be much worse than death.

"Call me that again and you lose your tongue" she hisses out, unable to keep everything inside. The man just chuckles darkly, eyes going pitch black with rage and hate when she looks up at him, her gaze holding thousands of daggers. She wanted him to be a pincushion. He glares back with equal intensity.

"I see you still haven't lost that stinging tongue" he snaps back, voice layered with poison. Standing up swiftly, he signals orders to his soldiers that she doesn't understand. She closes her eyes and waits for death. Hopes for it. But the killing blow never came.

"Chain her" the words were full of venomous promise.

"I've been waiting so long to have you at my mercy again, sweet Snowflake. I have somewhere special for you to go this time" Hands clasp metal around her wrists and she can feel as it drains what little mana she had left in her. She's hoisted up as the man looks her directly in her eyes and growls out, "Somewhere nobody will ever find you again".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story can also be found on Wattpad here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/136272332-ghost-of-an-imaginary-friend
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


	2. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
> From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.  
> Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
> In my arms lies Eternity.  
> \- Andraste 14:11

**S** **creaming**. All she could hear was the screaming. Echoes of broken cries against the unforgiving stone. Buried underneath miles of solid rock, she can feel the weight of it all above her head, crushing her - draining all hope from her body until there was nothing left but a limp husk of what was once a strong young girl, sarcastic and spritely.

Now, she was being swallowed by the pain of both herself and others. It all tangled and twisted until it tied around her neck and suffocated her. Things wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for that relentless wailing that ripped out pieces of her heart the longer it went on.

The abyss called to her. Asked her for help as people cried, leaping into the shadows from the edge of her slate cell. Spirits of the ones who took their own life right in this very place. A pillar in the middle of a gaping hole of complete emptiness filled only by a darkness so black that any flicker of light was consumed and destroyed in a second. It pressed against her closed eyelids as Winter attempted to rest, but the screams tonight were louder than they've ever been before. It seemed as if they were warning her of something coming, telling her that all this time has been building to her inevitable demise.

People say that when death comes for you, your life flashes before your eyes.

Small visions of pain and pleasure, eventually winding into a long, twisted tangle of memories that unravel the longer the life bleeds from your body. For most, it's frightening - a telltale sign that your existence in this blighted world would finally be coming to an end.

For Winter, these visions have been coming to her every day for almost a week and she was beginning to find a foreign comfort in them that she couldn't understand.

The flashes, they only urged her body to keep going on, the small flickers of companionship and hope that she is able to pull from these passing visions strengthening her will to ignore the gnawing starvation growing within her stomach and pounding headache beating agony against her skull.

The detection of time itself seemed a luxury when all the knowledge you have for the days as they pass is purely instinctual. She longed for the feeling of the sun blaring down onto her ghostly white skin, warming her to the bone.

Three weeks she's been here. Pure speculation for she only scratched down a tally mark representing a day after she has slept when she felt tired, or attempted to sleep, waking up again when she assumed it was daybreak. Even if she knew her sense of time was completely wrong, the agonizing pain in her stomach, mixed with constant nausea and a heaving of emptiness found within her starved body, proved to be perfect reminders that she has clearly been here for a long while - too long a while.

The yawning abyss of pitch black nothingness surrounding her wasn't only suffocating, but fed into her fears, clawing deep pits inside her mind. Darkness had always existed as more than a mere absence of light in her mind. Darkness could grasp, enclose and drain the essence of a person in a matter of seconds. Darkness can even resonate inside of a person, eating away at them until there is nothing left to consume and it becomes as they are. Living, breathing and capable.

However, she had never known true darkness until she had laid eyes upon a creature born from the shadows themselves. Formed within the deepest corners of a person's mind and existing in the farthest reaches of the Fade - demons or living representations of life after death, poured out into her soul, corrupting it, blackening it - capturing her mind and holding it in a nightmare she fears she will never wake from. 

And now, she was surrounded completely by the one thing in the entire world she was truly afraid of. Empty, swallowing darkness that threatened to pull her in at any given moment. It wouldn't be long now, she could feel it spreading like the darkspawn taint within her blood, burrowing deep beneath her skin.

The ones that cried out to her told her to 'get out!', and 'leave before it's too late!', but it wasn't as simple as that. She has tried everything she could.

The first moments she spent here were used to try and shed some light onto what little space she occupied in an attempt to make sense of where she was. Everything that had occurred after the darkspawn attack remained a blur up until she woke up here... wherever 'here' was.

It took the entire day, or what she assumed was a day, to find a loose bit of rock that could keep a spell going for as long as she needed it too. Finally, she had created a glowstone - a small chunk of rock she had infused with mana and that cast a gentle blue light over her prison cell. Occasionally, the tint of colour the glowstone created would mirror that of the sun, reminding her of something she hasn't felt or seen in too long.

Her space was small and consisted of nothing but stone spread out into a circle ledge of a pillar's peak, surrounded by nothing but a sea of darkness and pain. She had only found her source of water three days later and although a steady drip from an unknown source isn't much of gift from the Creators, it felt like heaven to have cold water trickling down her throat again.

Only once did she find any clues as to where her prison was located, and it still wasn't even close to helpful. The water had turned red one day - blood and dirt mixing into a tainted liquid that tasted of war and death. She spat it out and wiped her mouth, shuffling away as she tried to look and see up to where it was coming from. The metallic taste of a lost battle lingered on her tongue for days afterward and she gagged constantly, not having any contents left in her stomach to throw up after day two. 

Moving against the cold stone to stretch her back, she winces as a familiar pain runs up her spine like small pinpricks, the feeling similar to that of when feeling returns to a limb. Her wound, oddly enough, had not been listed among her main priorities when she had first woken up here, the pain having dimmed to nothing but a small ache that was constant, yet easy to ignore. When she had finally bothered to look, she saw pretty much exactly what she had been expecting. Her injury was patched up sloppily and the wrapping was rushed. She would have tried to remedy it herself had it not been for the yellowing cloth and blackening skin that she didn't dare touch.

What would the point be anyway? She didn't have any healing tonics or materials to do much more than just tighten the cloths to slow any bleeding that may occur under the stress of too much movement and it didn't seem like she was going anywhere anytime soon.

Her small stirring had lifted some of the weight in the air, the aura of desperation surrounding her weak body pushing and adding to the physiological heaviness already crushing her.

Gritting her teeth, she pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs tight to try and find a strange comfort in herself for there was absolutely nowhere else she could pull it from.

Putting her head down between her knees, she prays. Small whispered words that are sucked up into the darkness, bound to never reach the ears of anyone, let alone the Maker. In her clan, praying to the Maker could be considered the highest of sin against the Elven Gods they worshiped but at this point, she's exhausted all other options. She had to try.

"I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade  
For there is no darkness, nor death, in the Maker's Light  
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost"

She repeats only what she can remember - memories of enchanting songs sung by choirs of thousands and the wistful but haunting chanting of the hurt and the hopeless. They drove her to speak despite the pain that tears at her unused vocal cords.

The Chantry in Denerim had not compared to the wondrous spectacle of the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeux. There, the Chant could be heard from every corner of the city made of polished marble and painted gemstones. Winter was not easily impressed by dazzling spires that loomed over palaces of gold, knowing the ones who dwelled within these structures were nobles who had no heart for people like her. Yet, she always found herself longing to return and she had assumed that one day she would've had it not been for the recent turn of events.

Her eyes squeeze tighter together, tears threatening to spill.

"And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost"

She lets out a quivering breath, tightening her grip on herself. "Maker please..." She whispers, an almost inaudible whimper bubbling up into her throat, creating a lump that she's unable to swallow. "Please don't leave me here"

"If I'm going..." she swallows thickly, her voice cracking. "If I'm going to die here, allow me rest... please... one last time before you return me to the soil" she begs to what she could only expect to be nothing. The Maker was never one for quick responses, from what she's observed in the Andrastians she'd come across.

She waits. 2 minutes pass. 5. 8.10. She isn't positive what she was even waiting for but when the screams of pain fade from around her to allow her to sit in quiet for the first time in weeks, she's too exhausted to feel shocked that a prayer to the Maker actually did something, the feeling of every one of her limbs responding to the sudden quiet becoming overwhelming. It feels almost as if she deflates, every last ounce of strength she had left ebbing from her muscles, her mind yielding to the quiet that she had missed for so long.

The darkness settles, unfamiliar silence crushing her, consuming her soul one small piece at a time. ' _Only a little longer',_ she keeps repeating the words in her mind, grasping at the loose strings of hope still threading between the crumbling shards of her heart - the only substance still keeping it together. But was that really true? Was she really going to be free any time now?

Possibly, if she remained the way she was now. She needed to eat, that part was obvious. She wasn't going to last any length of time longer than a few days unless she manages to get something into her system, that is if the Creators decide not to let her die without all the suffering she supposedly deserves first.

Her eyes, despite the weight of a thousand weighing down her lids, remain open as she lays herself down.

Her gaze flits around her small space for the millionth time today alone, praying once more to any God she can think of that there would be _something_ ; a sign of life coming as a blessing no matter if it's a human, animal, spirit or demon. Anything would be welcome by this point. She assumes that even though she thinks of herself as being prepared to die if the situation arose, if that time was in fact, to come now, she would still be as fearful and unwilling as any healthy human, elf, dwarf or qunari. Despite this, she calls to Mythal to guide her to her side. To free her.

_"Ma ghilana mir din'an"_

Right as she is about to curl into herself and attempt to rest, her eyes catch something flickering in the shadows. Her breath hitches, mind spinning in pure disbelief.

She wasn't alone.

It was fleeting; a quick shuffle of movement that ignited every nerve in her body, wide eyes flashing with panic. Her skin prickles, goosebumps forming as a chill is sent crawling down her spine. She pales - her heart rate quickening. But slowly, much to her confusion, she settles down only moments later, after the initial shock has passed, her breathing levelling to an even pace, almost as if whatever she saw carried an aura of warmth and familiarity that could wash over the panic-stricken girl with ease, and without a thought. 

All signs of life come to a halt, the chilled stillness settling over her like a worn blanket, rough and uncomfortable yet still warm and enveloping in its nature.

The tension was unbearable. She felt a presence, an alarming length away from her now shaken from. She feels the fear building up within her, the calming aura she once felt becoming all but a distant memory, replaced by a pool of darkness and worry that resides in the empty pit of her stomach, spilling over like a bleeding wound. Even still, though she was in a state of pure vulnerability, the unknown being waited. For what, she couldn't know, but the idea of a predator stocking their potential kill was more than a little unsettling.

She wills the sudden terror to fade once again, her confident visage attempting to fight its way back into prominence, however, something was preventing her from letting it show. _"A demon?",_ she wonders to herself. She has always been able to feel their presence stronger than most of the other mages she's met; they carried with them a certain deceitful cover-up that spoke to her in an odd language she couldn't understand.

The words they uttered in her mind sliced a chill into the deepest depths of her heart.

But she heard no mysterious, terrifying language. Only silence echoed back to her fear-riddled thoughts as she laid still, considering her options.

If she was to yell out, would her calls be answered? No, nobody came before, why would they suddenly show to her rescue now? She cursed herself for having such a foolish thought.

She could remain quiet until it either took its leave and gave up... or killed her. But was that really a good option? What if neither ever acted or spoke? Would she die anyway without ever even knowing what this entity had come here for?

Should she attempt speaking with it? If it was really here to hurt her, wouldn't it have done something by now? What if it was here to help her? Could it be a spirit, stretching across the Veil to free her from this world?

Spirits resonated with her much like demons did, whispering a strange language into her subconscious, however, their entire feel was different. They were mostly calm, some coming across as gentle in thought and in action. Few were talkative and fewer still were conscious enough to understand the world around it at all, but there have been a few that she has been able to use as guides to assist her through dark paths and even darker situations.

This 'it' she knew was present, showed no signs of being a demon, spirit or even a human. So what was it, and why was it here? She found herself beginning to relax again even though, in theory, the fear of the unknown should be sending unfiltered terror deep into her very core; especially since she was a mage. But her curious side couldn't help but be intrigued - almost as if this 'it' was suddenly the most complex puzzle in Thedas and she had to be the first to solve it.

Suddenly, she is struck with an idea. Feeling around with only her mind, she locates her glowstone, using the pure strength of her will to brighten the light just enough for her to see what she was up against.

She couldn't mask the confusion she is certain echoes into her features when the now amber light washes over a figure standing eerily still some feet away, her eyes narrowing quizzically. The entity she felt lurking in the shadows wasn't a shade, shadow, spirit or even a demon. It was a young man, not much older than her.

He wore dirty leathers, a patched-up tunic, and a hat that could be considered comically large; it stretched the surrounding shadows over to hide his face, making him otherwise impossible to see and/or recognize. He didn't seem to be carrying any weapons and looked relatively harmless. His stance was the only part of him that told her 'danger' for he reminded her of an overly alert snake, positioned to strike at a milliseconds notice.

The stance of an assassin.

She remains still, body tense and alert despite the weakness in her muscles and agonizing pain eating away at her from the inside. Her eyes hold intrigue, awaiting the man's next move. Everything is completely silent for what seems like a small eternity, save for the quick, shallow breaths being emitted from both Winter and the ghostly man standing before her.

Rusling leather and quick but hesitant footsteps break the suffocating silence like the slice of a blade, the figure moving a swift step to the left, head tilting only a fraction of a centimetre to the side. Her eyes flicker uncontrollably to land upon the two wicked looking daggers strapped to the young man's back, almost as if she sensed the danger before she even really knew it was there.

Her heart rate thudded deafeningly loud in her ears; too loud for her to be able to hear anything but chilling white noise and a beat of blood rushing through her veins. ' _He is going to kill me.'_

She could feel his gaze on her, and it felt cold.

Why would this person, or whatever he is, be here to kill her? Who would send an assassin to a prison to murder someone who was going to die anyway, in a matter of time? Who would go through all that trouble, especially for someone like her? She's of no importance to anything or anyone - she's just a lone elven mage without a home being held somewhere nobody can find. Well _almost_ nobody, evidently.

She can no longer hear the faint rustling of leather as slowly, almost cautiously, the stranger crouches down, hands dangling between his legs - an action that made him seem almost innocent. His head twitches into more of a noticeable tilt which she reads as a sign of curiosity. This confuses her. What did he have to be curious about? But all of that is forgotten as she inhales a sharp breath, her nerves firing electricity through her once dormant body, jumpstarting her heart into a panic.

The shadows beneath his oversized hat push back as the amber glow of her flame stretches to reveal his face to her, and she assumes that if she wasn't starved or already laying on the ground, she would have fallen and attempted to scurry away in fear. A cool sweat runs down her spine.

This was no ordinary young man, that was made clear instantly. His skin was too pale, much like hers, however, he didn't have the same life to it that she did. His cheeks were too hollow, along with the areas around his eyes. They were sunken in and darkened like he hasn't slept in two ages.

It looked as if he should be dead, or close to it. A weak chin, high cheekbones and large nose added to his... _unique_ look, but what made her completely regret her decision to lure this being from the shadows, were his eyes.

Although mostly hidden behind messy blonde bangs, the parts that peek through glitter in the dim light. They were bright blue but almost seemed crystal clear; an entire world existing behind the thin sheet of ice that made up his irises. They were other-worldly and clearly fade-touched, hiding a deeper mystery or the remnants of a broken dream. He clearly wasn't a human, but he held no signs of being any other entity known to her.

Thousands of questions bubble up to the surface of her mind, washing over the fear of the unknown with intrigue and a desire to understand. With each passing moment, this ghostly figure stared at her with an unblinking, knowing gaze, almost like it knew more about her from a first glance that she even knew about herself. Questions grew more complicated - eyes more curious.

Only one question shone brighter than all the rest. ' _Was it here to kill me?'._ She knew that unless she spoke up or moved, she was never going to get an answer.

Movement wracks pain throughout her entire body, causing her to grit her teeth and bite her tongue to the point of drawing blood as she forces herself up. Pulling all the strength in her muscles taut, she manages to shuffle into enough of a sitting position for her body to support her with as little pain as possible.

She could feel the unyielding stare against her intensify, and attempting to ignore it, she manages a little more concentration on her task at hand. With one last agonizing heave, she finds herself in a vertical position that was almost comfortable, knees pulled close to her body.

"No".

Her heart trips in her chest at the sound of its voice. It wasn't deep or commanding in any way. It wasn't raspy, gravely, croaky or brittle. It sounded normal, an underlying boyish tone coming as no surprise considering how old this 'he' looked. It even held a hint of an accent that she couldn't quite make out. Rivain maybe? The only part that was odd was how normal it sounded - calm even. It was almost soothing.

Usually, when anything that was corrupted or possessed in any way spoke, it did so in a booming voice. A way to capture your attention and hold it as the creature made its offer, one would suppose. Even animals that were being inhabited by the most mundane of spirits, such as the ones found within the Brecillian Forest, spoke in a tone that was chilling and unsettling. They never even came close to sounding anything remotely soothing.

It takes her a minute to fully process what it had said to her, despite it being only a single word. When it sinks in, it takes her another short bit of time to conclude why it said it, remembering what she had asked in her head only moments ago. Or what she had thought she asked in her head. Could she have spoken out loud without realizing? No, her vocal cords were too dry and rough from disuse; she would have felt it if she was speaking. So how had it heard her question?

She was too confused to understand, let alone feel relieved about that fact that it just claimed that it wasn't here to kill her. More and more questions go unanswered, spinning around in her mind so fast she felt dizzy. ' _Then why was it here?', 'Why the weapons?', 'How did it get in here?', 'Could I get out the same way?', 'Why does it blend into the shadows so inhumanly?', 'How could it hear my thoughts?'_

_'What is it?'_

"I don't know what I am". That silky voice, too calm in this situation, breaks through the pressing shadows and once again, her heart does a few flips, twists and turns in her chest, this time more from fear. _It heard her_. Inside her _head_. She _definitely_ did not say that out loud and it _heard_ it.

"I used to think I was a ghost, but then a Templar proved I wasn't real", it explains, a tone that leads her to believe, even if only for a second, that it was trying to be helpful in answering her question. She retreats back a bit, unable to think straight when she doesn't even want to think at all in fear of him hearing.

"A-Are you a demon?" she stumbles over her words, unable to stop herself from asking, her stuttering and louder tone causing more pain than her praying did previously. Her own voice scratches her throat raw and she coughs a few times, restraining a dry heave.

Surely if a Templar was the one to prove it wasn't real, granted it was telling her the truth, that would make it some sort of creature from the Fade. She contemplates the possibility that it could be a spirit, despite that making little to no sense. She interrupts her own train of thought when she realizes that spirits don't possess people. They have little to no interest in seeking this world's experiences or the people within it. 

Whatever this thing was, it had to have possessed this poor young man. She feels a surge of empathy for the tortured soul, unable to even fathom how it would feel to no longer be in control of your own actions, all while having to be forced to watch as you do unspeakable things that you could never take back or escape from. It sickened her.

"No, I am me. _Faces stole and kept. Lives made into something they can't control. A mask, a moving man, made into someone he doesn't want to be_. I'm not like that", another attempt to explain, but her thought was the only explanation that made any sort of sense. It had to be a unique type of spirit she has never encountered before. Perhaps one nobody has ever encountered before. She could only assume that was the cause of a lack of strange voices in her head.

However, It was still impossible for a spirit to maintain a physical form such as this for any length of time without being driven mad or getting corrupted. And besides, spirits could barely think for themselves, let alone communicate outside of the Fade. 

Small, careful yet dexterous steps pull her from her own mind, putting her instantly on high alert as it creeps closer, cautious yet curious. It seemed as if it was the one afraid of her, even though she was quite certain it should be the other way around. The fear begins to build once again as she sucks in another sharp breath, watching as the figure freezes, the darkness beginning to settle into stillness once again.

"You're frightened", it observes, head lowering to the point where half of its face was covered by the wide-brimmed hat it wore. She can't help but watch its mouth as it speaks to her, once again trying to explain. "You don't have to be. I'm not going to hurt you".

It still watches her, curious. It dares another shuffle closer, allowing her a perfect view of its blades that she couldn't seem to pull her attention from. She swallows nervously. "I'm Cole. I've come to help you".

This captures her attention, eyes flickering over to the young man who now crouched a safe distance away, but still close enough for her to see its face once again. As she suspected, its eyes were focused on her completely, still as intense and unblinking as before, although this time, the cold tinge they held has dissipated, replaced by a warmer, gentler glow that was almost... pretty. She suddenly begins to notice flecks of gold that catch the glow of the light as its head tilts once again and "pretty" quickly changes to beautiful.

Winter mentally shakes herself, cursing her own stupidity for thinking such things about something that could quite possibly be a demon. They were deceitful and almost always hid under a pretty face - possessing someone who could draw you in. This 'Cole' claims that he isn't possessing anyone, but demons lie. That's what they are created to do. Lies pile upon lies until they change to honesty as it takes you over, telling one last lie - that everything was going to be okay.

"Your body is hurting you. Too empty, the light is burning out, no fuel, no fire. You need to eat" he concludes and she laughs - or at least makes a sound that somewhat resembles a laugh. A choked inhale of air followed by a dry cough that tore at her throat was a more accurate description.

If his head wasn't already cocked to the side, Winter was almost certain that it would've been by now. That was clearly his main method of showing his confusion; it wasn't the simplest way of expressing that emotion but with his eyes constantly covered or hindered from view, it seemed to be the only way he knew how to get the message across without the use of vocal tones.

His observation amused her - it was so painfully obvious that yes, she needed to eat, of course. She didn't need a stranger to tell her that for her to understand. She was dying. She was starving. The agony clawing inside the empty pit of her stomach already told her that with great persistence. 

"I can get you food. The guards don't see me" he offers, voice quieter than before, his tone gentle and even a little sweet. Giddy almost. Was he really that excited to help her or was she reading him completely wrong? She wouldn't be surprised; she wasn't very good with people - or in this case, whatever 'Cole' was.

She draws her gaze back down, pulling back to sit a little farther away from him. He's calm yet still clearly cautious, crouching in the same position he's been in since he appeared to her. He was completely unfazed by the fact that she was trying to distance herself, almost as if he was used to it by now.

He waits with a seemingly unlimited amount of patience for her to respond to his offer, needing her permission before he can go and steal her some food apparently - she has no idea as to why.

"How'd you get in here?" She responds to his offer with a question; the same question that's been burning in her chest since he first emerged from the shadows. Her eyes remain focused on the stone. It would usually be crying out to her in pain, echoing the broken cries of former prisoners that had died in this exact spot before her. But it still remained silent. She was unsure whether it would remain as such or if she needed to be taking advantage of it and resting as soon as possible. 

She's given only a millisecond's thought to what he might give for a reply, but even hours of contemplation couldn't have prepared her for what comes out of his mouth next. "The stars, in your head" he explains as if it was the most simple thing in the entire world for him. "The door was dark, and hard to find while I was hiding, but they helped"

She was even more intrigued now. A little confused maybe but intrigued none the less.

"Can I get out the same way?" Another one of the questions she's had churning in her subconscious the entirety of this encounter. His expression doesn't show it but she can tell that he turns the question over in his head a couple times before responding with an answer that made her heart deflate.

"No, you are quieter but still too bright, blazing, beautiful. The bad people would see you and bring you back, beaten and bruised. There are too many eyes to take notice"

"But what if I..." she attempts to sit up a little, a piercing agony exploding across her back, crippling her spine until she is forced to curl back into herself. Maybe he was right. She wasn't going anywhere in this condition.

For the first time since he's started talking to her, he moves. It's just a small shift forward, arms outstretched only a little but it speaks volumes. His expression also drops a bit when she bites back a cry of pain, falling back into a half-sitting, half-lying position. Why was he so concerned about her all of a sudden?

"The blade like ice, freezing you in place, but the pain sizzles and shocks. The shape, too similar, small but sharp. _He_ _didn't_ _mean_ _to_ _hurt_ _me, it was an accident. He_ _would_ _never do it on purpose._ It's bleeding again. I can fix it" another offer, but this time, she felt much more inclined to answer instantaneously with a yes, without even giving it a second thought. Although she still remained confused. The only ones she knew would be capable of healing such a wound were either mages or very skilled healers that had been training for years.

The weapons on his back, stained with the pain of old killings and clearly having been soaked by blood on more than one occasion, told her that he definitely wasn't trained in the art of medicine. "I can still help. Knowing isn't important. You need more than you have so the hurt is less"

"Can you do that? Get me food and bandages without anyone noticing those things missing?" she inquires, spotting a rock that for some reason looked special enough to pick up, and swipes it into her hand, turning it over between her fingers. Her eyes were still focused down. She avoids asking the more pressing question that's been bugging her for too long now. Why would he do all this for her? Why her and not anybody else here? There has to be hundreds of them, maybe thousands. She could feel the weight of all their shattered hearts resting on her shoulders like dust. A million pounds of it.

"Yes" for once, he replies to the question she asked aloud rather than the one inside her mind, which she was thankful for. "The guards don't eat all their food and leave it to be burned later. _Must look my best for the fire tonight, Monley will be there. Have to impress her to impress my Lord. She's one that won't be easily thrown away. There is enough food here to feed millions, that fire will be going long enough to win her._ There are spiders at Haven that wouldn't mind helping"

 _'What in Mythal's name was he talking about?'_ It sounds almost as if he's speaking the thoughts of someone completely random, but how could he hear anybody's thoughts other than her own? It was a mystery why he could even hear her's, but at least she was near him. Was there someone else here or could he just dive into the thoughts of anyone he chooses? Does he just hear everyone all the time anyway?

He doesn't really keep the same thought going - his sentences are mangled and mixed with the thoughts and words of other people, and he doesn't finish a thought until it's been practically forgotten about. She somehow finds it a little... endearing. How scatter-brained he was.

However, this way of speaking definitely made it hard to follow what he's talking about. Luckily for her, the pitch and overall tone of his voice changes when he's voicing someone else's thoughts. He sounds more other-worldly and dramatic. His voice turns breathy with an even more soothing rhythm, almost like he's speaking from within a dream or a memory, echoing the words back to you in a form that is almost poetic.

"Wow, these people are sounding more and more like they were made up just to be horrible bastards. What else have they done? Do they stab babies in their free time? That would be fitting" she quips, but hope returns to her, seeping through the cracks in her heart. This 'Cole' must really have a way with words to make her feel this hopeful this fast. "You had hope before only it flickered, flew too free. I lit the flame but it won't stay. You aren't strong enough to keep it going, your body too weak, wounded. I will help"

Again, he gives a voice to her thoughts and she hears the quiet rustling of leather and cloth as he moves, making to stand.

Her eyes glide up to see him leave, catching on his bewitching blue gaze that watched her with a glint of wonder. Curious, always curious.

"Winter" she speaks without thinking, watching the glint of question turn to a shadow that coated his expression. "My name. It's Winter... I just thought you'd... want to know" she clarifies and his expression softens back to a neutral state.

"I know" his response couldn't be more simple. He takes a step back, already blending into the shadows, the darkness crawling like smoke around his silhouette, swallowing him. In seconds, he was gone, like he was never even there in the first place.

The shadows still. Everything settles to a quiet calm. The screaming had stopped. Even the steady drip of water nearby seemed quieter.

But her mind was racing. So may questions lapped in waves against her brain that she felt like she was being pulled into the ocean, drowning and unable to swim. A brightness shines in her heart and she finds that even though the cries were returning, this new feeling didn't falter. How in Creator's name could he be having this much of an effect on her already?

Maybe... he really was just a demon. Maybe he was finding a way to pry himself into her mind - looking for a gap, an opportunity to take up residence there. She did feel... different, but not in a creepy, 'I'm being possessed' sort of way.

She clenches her jaw and hardens her expression.

_'Stop Winter. You're getting your hopes up too high. You_ _can't_ _even be sure if he really exists. You're never going to see him again._ _He's_ _not coming back.'_

_'You_ _just_ _need to forget about him'._

_'Just like how he'll forget_ _about_ _you'._


	3. Searching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Translations will be written in italics after spoken dialogue where it is needed.
> 
> And as the black clouds came upon them,  
> They looked on what pride had wrought,  
> And despaired.  
> \- Threnodies 7:10

_*****One Week Earlier***** _

**The night sky glowed with the smouldering embers of a dying campfire.**

Stars blink along the horizon, silver moonlight stretching across planes of empty land framed by a dark, thick forest. Resting just beyond the cover of the trees, four travellers sit huddled in their camp, exhaustion waning their strength and weighing heavy on their shoulders. Tents rustle in the chilly night breeze, hastily built to protect from a harsh wind coming in from the North.

The travellers' atmosphere is tense. The leader of the group, a tall, brutish Qunari woman named Asazli, sports a deep scowl as she works to revive their only source of heat. Her sharp violet eyes, inhumanly bright through the blanketing darkness, harden with irritation, a low growl giving voice to her frustration.

She sits back in defeat under the reserved, focused stare of her companions, their eyes prickling at the back of her neck. The act of trying to stoke rapidly fading ashes reminded her too much of prodding at a cold corpse. For a few passing moments, she considers asking Solas, the apostate mage sat across the way, for assistance; she knew his power was impressive in both strength and skill, making such a simple spell feel like child's play, but her pride wasn't broken down enough for that just yet.

"You've finally given up, huh?" a deep, rumbling voice sounds from behind her, the rough and raspy timbre belonging uniquely to Varric, another of her companions. Asazli glances over her shoulder with a distasteful glare, adjusting the tight mess of a bun pulling her black hair from her face, a deep frown knitting her brows together.

She finds the dwarf making himself comfortable on a dry patch of grass, his dark eyes holding disdain when they focus on her. Asazli isn't surprised - she is often the target of his scornful glare. He wasn't secretive in his dislike for her or how she chose to run things, making his opinions and disagreements known openly. His words were never hateful or purposefully malicious in intent; however, they were merely a declaration of what he believed to be fact. She respected him for it.

"Couldn't you just get Chuckles to snap his fingers and set the entire forest on fire?" the dwarf adds to his previous inquiry, eyes drifting to the Elf in question sat cross-legged on the dirt, mirroring him. Solas, the Elf mentioned previously, does exactly what his nickname entails, meeting Asazli's eyes when she stands, brushing the muck from her trousers the best she can.

Solas's irises hold mystery and intrigue, like a shadow misting over a mirror of even more shadow. Asazli couldn't deny that she had the desire to understand him with more clarity on more than one occasion. Still, her pride would again get in the way, whispering in the back of her mind that he was an apostate and openly communicated with those that existed solely beyond the Veil. His entire field of interest and study rivalled everything the Qunari fought against, even going as far as to cut out the tongues and sew the lips of their own to keep their mages from using any spells or incantations.

Even now, the crystal tip of Solas' staff glowed to attract spirits to this world, sentient orbs of condensed light bouncing in tight circles around the camp. Some of the spirits blinked with excitement and joy while others faded out of reality in seconds, their very existence faltering.

Asazli couldn't understand his desire for befriending these apparitions, nor did she want to. While she was never taught to fear spirits and demons like the other's of her Qunari kin that grew up under the Qun, she still wasn't brought up believing they could be anything other than entities to be slain on sight.

It saddened her then that someone as powerful and in control over his magical talents wasted his ability on a field of knowledge that meant nothing when it came to offensive strength or strategy. Not to say that he was to be overlooked in battle and Asazli with all her hatred for the Elf and everything that entailed, couldn't keep such an experienced mage doing the bare minimum, even if she didn't approve of his practices or field of study.

"Surely our proud Qunari leader would be seething at the prospect of me easily doing something she cannot, Child of the Stone," only glancing at Varric for a brief moment, Solas responds with a calm, smooth tone, despite his apparent lack of interest on the subject. "She must prefer being left to do this on her own"

Patronizing. Condescending. Not to mention that he was a complete _smart-ass_. She didn't hold the same respect for him as she did for Varric, and as such, gave him no more than the occasional passing glance.

"I don't need your arrogant tone right now, Elf. I'm too tired to listen to you talk," that didn't mean that she wasn't opposed to throwing a barbed word or two his way when the situation called for it. He remains stoic and unfazed, quite used to her biting words after weeks of travelling by her side.

Standing on wobbly legs, Asazli takes a seat back beside the final of her companions, a raven-haired woman named Cassandra. Stretching out her aching muscles, she grunts in relief for finally getting off her feet. They'd travelled together with only short rests for the better of two days, only stopping once it was too dark to see three feet in front of them, rising with the sun the following morning. It had taken a toll on them all, but Cassandra seemed to be the worst off, her eyes and head drooping along with her posture.

The woman was strong and had seen plenty of battles, the scar above her jawline telling quite the story all on its own, but such a long few days of travel would take anyone, weak or strong, down to their knees.

"Do not let yourself be swayed by Asazli's hateful words, Solas. We would all be thankful for your assistance," Cassandra mumbles, her Nevarran accent making her nearly impossible to fully understand. She shuffles uncomfortably at the now hulking presence beside her, a deep frown weighing down her already listless expression. Solas' head perks up, his eyes taking a moment to properly focus back into reality. He takes a drawn-out sigh, nodding slowly.

"If you can spare a moment of your time to patience, I'll see what I can do despite the exhaustion waning my strength."

The elven apostate moves to crouch by the firepit where Asazli had been previously, the spirits he had been communicating with only moments ago, blinking out of sight with the wave of his hand. Cassandra pulls her attention back to the void, her eyes going blank. She looks ready to drop at any moment.

Cassandra - now she was an odd one. While Asazli could see the allure of some of Varric and Solas' characteristics and skills, she knew she was never going to develop any warmth or respect for Cassandra Pentaghast. Yes, she was brave, strong-willed - if a little hard-headed - useful in a fight and someone she could have potentially come to admire, even aspire to be. If only she didn't hate every single word that left that woman's mouth.

She called the rabble of the Chantry 'inspiring' and spoke more like a Sister than a Seeker. Her ideals leaned too heavily on faith - it was impractical and grossly irresponsible when she had so many people relying on her guidance.

Asazli didn't know much of the Seekers as most of their history was shrouded in secrecy, especially when it came to eavesdropping ears, curious onlookers or prying questions. And the Ben-Hassrath within the Qun specialized in all of those categories. Granted, to a much higher and more professional degree but they were shoved in with the inquisitive nobodies nonetheless.

However, she did know enough of their Order to conclude that, when faced with a leadership role, relying on anything other than tactical knowledge and prowess in battle was juvenile. Especially when their position of leadership put them in charge of something as influential as the Templar Order.

Although, the Templar Order was not so influential anymore, and Asazli could see the pain this was bringing to Cassandra's eyes. Only just sitting beside her, she could feel how much the Seeker was seething, boiling with anger she was trying desperately to mask. She hadn't made her disapproval of Asazli's final decision regarding the Templars known until they were on the road, merely hinting at it with a growl of, _'we will speak of this later,'_ as they were making to depart. Everyone felt it, though, and tried to avoid the scathing one-sided argument they knew was coming for as long as possible.

But, as the Seeker takes a deep breath, her eyes searing into Asazli's side, they all know their time is up.

"What will they think of us?" when she finally speaks, her tone lacks warmth - a stark contrast against her blazing eyes that swarm with mixed emotion. A distant roll of thunder accompanies the campfire as it crackles to life, drawing in Asazli's attention for a fleeting moment.

She looks up to the sky, disappointed when only a few scattered stars greet her curious gaze. Heavy cloud cover was sliding in from the East, bringing the promise of a storm. She could already feel the telltale chill in the air.

"Are you referring to the Templars or the others back at Haven?" Solas offers after a long, tense silence. He moves to his previous cross-legged position, this time shielded by the roaring campfire snapping and popping with new life. The heat in the air distorts his shape as he sits down, smoke thankfully getting carried away from all four of them by the nipping winds.

"All of them. Cullen will be outraged when he learns of the Order's new position. Leliana will undoubtedly want answers for what happened at Therinfall," Cassandra scowls, fingers picking at her own nails - the only visible sign that she is feeling something other than just anger.

"It seems you have already found your answer then, Seeker. Why do you allow these questions to linger?" Cassandra's brow curls even further, her eyes holding fire even as she regards the Elf with a cold expression.

"The choice that was made was out of any of our control. I know not of the repercussions of what our Herald did, but I do not think they will be rewarding or beneficial to the Inquisition."

"Blame me all you want Cassandra," Asazli is the first to break their veneer of uncaring silence. Her tone is eerily mild. "I made a choice when you were too much of a coward to stand up and speak your mind. I asked for your opinion, was willing to hear what you had to say, but what did you do? Nothing. You did and said nothing. Someone had to step in."

"That someone needn't have been you, Herald" Cassandra, just as dangerously monotone, gives her a glare that dripped with venom.

"No? Who was it going to be then?" The Qunari leader scoffs. "Solas? He might as well have been sleeping, but then again, that's nothing new."

The Elf sits unconcernedly, unwilling to push into the argument when he knows he has no chance of swaying its course.

Varric sits just as quietly, his face blank and emotionless, despite his eyes, currently focused on the ground, betraying him as they swim with a mix of anger, irritation and regret. He wore a mask, and he wore it well, and Asazli knew that it was one that fooled the people around him with ease, whether it be a bluff during a game of Wicked Grace or a visage of calm while the world around him crumbles. But it couldn't fool her.

Once realizing her attention was being stolen elsewhere, she turns back to Cassandra with dark eyes, still keeping her voice on the diplomatic, lighter side. "You contributed nothing, so you don't get to complain about my decision now when I allowed you to sway my opinion. There is no changing it, so our only choice is to deal with the consequences as they arrive."

"I will not try and fight you, Herald" Cassandra doesn't sound defeated, her tone lacking any solemn undertones. "I may not agree with your methods, but you are correct, nothing we do now will fix what you have broken."

The Seeker's head turns, subtracting her attention from the argument and adding it to the fire. The tension doesn't wane from her shoulders, keeping her displeasure known. "Let us just hope you have not broken much."

The rationalizing part of Asazli knew that that was where the argument should end, but the prideful part of her was a much stronger force, shoving against logic until she was biting back with words much less measured and a tone that was much less patient. "I do not understand how you think we had any other option."

"Did we not?" The woman's eyes lift back to stab at her, drilling holes with how much resentment they held burning just beneath the surface.

"What else could we have done? The Order was in shambles. It wouldn't survive if we left them to try and rebuild themselves, much less thrive like it needs to end this war," Asazli defends, staring back with an intensity just as scalding, her anger getting the better of her composure.

"You _disbanded_ the Templar Order. Do you have _any_ idea what that means?"

"So now 'we' is just 'you'? Where were these strong opinions back when we were deciding what to do with those pathetic excuses for soldiers?" Asazli spits, remembering how pitiful they were, brainwashed and stumbling in their urge to kill anything that moved to stop them, branded red and sick with their own imbecility. They reminded her of the barbaric Tal-Vashoth that gave the other, more civil Qunari like her, a bad name.

"You know nothing of the Templars."

Asazli barely holds back a snicker. "So am I to believe that you think that just because I'm Qunari, I don't know how your religious customs and systems work? If you think me so naive and clueless then you really must know nothing of our people, which is the same ignorance you accuse me of having."

"You come from a hive mind where your people do not have thoughts of their own. How must I not accuse you of ignorance when you are blinded and only believe that from which your people have told you?" there is some truth to what the Seeker claims, and it makes Asazli flinch, instantly putting her on the defence, pain striking into her heart. Varric is, oddly enough, the only one to notice her crack a little at the Seeker's word, even from across the campsite.

"Ashkost kata," _You are seeking death,_ Asazli hisses, her tone much less firm and forceful, the strength it once had causing her fists to clench in her lap as a result. "Do not speak of my people like they have no worth. I may not agree with some of their practices, but they are not all mindless animals, blinded by the Arishok's wishes and rules of the Qun."

"How would ones such as myself have the capacity to exist if we didn't possess minds of our own? If the Qun was what you claim it to be, I would not be sitting here with a mark cursed into my flesh by demonic Fade creatures as well as the title of a being whose entire purpose is to speak the mindless prattle of your supposed 'Andraste, Bride of the Maker'"

Asazli hated to admit that there was sufficient reasoning to Cassandra's statements, though they were not _entirely_ true. From an outsider's perspective, she could understand how what the Qun did could look like brainwashing.

"I will not lecture you on my beliefs, nor will I attempt to explain the worth of my people to you for you do not seem willing to listen to any semblance of reason," once again, the Seeker looks into the flames. This time, the knowledge that this is where this conversation needed to end was enough to overtake Asazli's pride in fighting back.

"Nor will you. Believe what you will, Basra. Ashkost say hissra", _seek peace with your Gods,_ "For they have led you astray."

Asazli gets to her feet, sweeping her pack up from beside her and throwing it over her shoulder. Cassandra, thankfully, doesn't speak more, choosing to seethe in silence and allowing her to leave.

"I'll keep watch. Solas, you will switch with me when the fire has died down," Asazli commands, not taking a no for an answer. Ordinarily, she would rotate with Cassandra for the role of keeping them protected. Still, the wind was biting, and the air was thick with expected frost, making Solas' charge over flame an envious ability in the dreary gloom under cover of the wood just a few paces north of their location.

There are no words of protest to be heard, and Asazli, thankful for some civility, bids them goodnight before covering the distance to her post. Her skin, thick and leathery, makes up for most of the frigid temperature now that the campfire was nothing but a blink in the distance, even as the breeze picks up.

She resists a shiver, tossing her pack to the side to make herself comfortable leaning on a tree's trunk. Mumbling a few chosen Qunari words to herself to calm her mind, she finds herself unable to remain still. A shiver runs down her back, but not from the cold. Goosebumps rise to her skin, a prickling feeling creeping up the length of her spine.

Someone was watching her.

Her eyes focus back on her companions, now laughing amongst themselves, likely as Varric spins for them another absurd story of dragons fighting griffins, or the Champion of Kirkwall single-handedly taking down three giants, four high dragons and seven Blights worth of darkspawn. But even still, not a single one of them had their eyes on her.

Then the feeling was gone. Asazli's mind clouds over, misting at the edges until her entire consciousness blurs and resets. She blinks. Steadies herself. She's calm - unable to give reason to her previously tense shoulders and spike of adrenaline. Why was she so panicked? Nothing was out of the ordinary; the air was still and empty between gusts of sharp winds. The forest was quiet, the field stretched along its outskirts, even more so. Only whispers of friendly laughter echoed into the hollow night sky.

Asazli was content. Relaxed. Even the chill in the air was largely forgotten. Muttering a couple more select words to herself in her mother-tongue, the Qunari released her grip on her blade, unaware of how she even came to handling it.

**\- - -**

Dawn broke on the horizon long after Cassandra, Solas, Varric, and Asazli had decided to get back on the road.

Longing to be back under a roof with a real bed and a real meal drew the travelling party out of their hastily built tents before the sun could rouse them awake. Packing up camp, Asazli once again sports a deep scowl, mostly due to a horrible rest. The others didn't fare better, all fatigued and sluggish in their effort to clear up their belongings.

Asazli stood a few feet from the rest, staring out into the field before them with narrow eyes. Drawing the chilled air into her lungs, a shiver rattles her bones. The land was sprinkled with small crystalized shards that shimmered in the dim light, a fine layer of frost sparkling along the surface of the hardened dirt and dry grass. Dark clouds hover over the horizon, drifting into fading whisps the farther off the mountains they travel. The peaks themselves cut across the sky like gnarled teeth, separating the desolate fields they found themselves passing through from the populated landscapes of the Hinterlands hidden in the shadow of Castle Redcliffe and its accompanying village.

Cassandra warned them a few days before their week-long journey to Therinfall that a storm was brewing in the North and that it was on route to pass right over their path. They seemed to have lucked out as they experienced nothing more than harsh winds, light snowfall and a small temperature drop. It was nothing compared to the blizzard Inquisition scouts stationed deep in the Frostbacks reported.

It roared powerfully, the eye of the storm having shaken the sheer cliff sides and soaring peaks into submission. Homes were destroyed, farms mowed over by drifts of ice and snow. The ones that managed to survive the Breach were no longer able to give safe harbour to those looking for shelter from both the war and the onslaught of demons.

Asazli wouldn't be surprised if they all thought their beloved Maker was out for vengeance, and now that she had been unwillingly named the Herald of Andraste, she supposes they must be thinking the same of her. She gives her head a shake, throwing a bag over her shoulder, watching absentmindedly when Varric does the same, Solas handing him the last of his items.

That all didn't matter now; the storm had long since passed and wouldn't affect their final day of travel back to their holdings, which she was relieved about.

The Breach, swirling severely after a night of relative calm, just past the cover of the mountains and out of sight, rumbled echoes of pain through the ground beneath them. She braces herself against the snapping energy that tended to accompany each vibration through the earth.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Varric doing the same. Solas didn't look bothered, as is per the usual. A small part of her wonders if he had trained himself to be numb to the fluctuations of the Fade. He didn't react with the same stiffness as many fellow magic-users she's seen - it was a natural response to the ache that shot through her veins every time the Breach destabilized or pulsed. But she had the mark to blame for that, not so much the ability to wield powerful magic as he did.

Gritting her teeth at the itch of pain that sizzled into her wrist due to her mark flaring up, she tries to distract herself, glancing around for her greatsword, her brows knitting together. Usually kept close, a Quanri's blade wasn't only a weapon but an extension of themselves, much like an arm or leg. Most of Asazli's kin would refer to their sword as something more like their heart or soul, often naming their blades with that intent in mind.

While Asazli held a faint appreciation for the custom, she had chosen a much more individually personal name - Kariha, the name of her sister within the Qun. She was the one who had allowed her to join men in battle, despite the rules of the Qun restricting it. While they didn't share the same blood, they still bled together. Now, she shed the blood of the enemy in her name.

However, this meant that something was amiss, considering Asazli was searching for her sword, meaning it wasn't at her side like it always was. Like it was _supposed_ to be. Sharp panic jolts her into action, her head flipping from side to side at a frantic pace, hands trembling.

"Perhaps this is what you are missing," Solas' smooth, accented voice grabs the attention of her shaken nerves, her entire body swivelling to view the elven apostate in his approach. She finds him standing calm, eyes intense despite his kind movements, offering her lost weapon back into her hands where it should have never left in the first place.

"It is rare to see a Qunari without their weapon. One may presume your mind laid elsewhere, but surely your unwavering and practiced focus could not sway with such ease" the apostate muses, admiring the runes and engravings alone the blade's silver surface even as it is taken from him in a rush. Instantly her nerves settle - blood that once ran cold, easing her back into calm.

"Kariha, written alongside a rune that means something alike to a blood-bond if I'm not mistaken," she can hear no meaning for prying or offence in his tone. As much as she wants to snap at him for bringing up anything personal, she finds herself silent, sheathing her blade deliberately, eyes low. Solas merely hums after a moment, slinging another of his belongings over his shoulder.

"I apologize, I did not mean to intrude upon your business. I merely admire your method for keeping her memory alive. Memories fade away too easily without a reminder, sometimes without realization" the apology relaxes the Qunari's shoulders and raises her eyes, a nod being offered to him as a thank you. He bows his head in return and moves to catch up with Cassandra, who was already well on her way to beginning the remainder of their journey.

Taking one last glance at the blade now properly equipped at her hip, Asazli takes a deep breath to wipe away the sombre look that drew her down her metaphorical mask and replaces it with her usual stoic expression. "You staying to admire the dwarf?" Varric grumbles from behind her, and she very nearly jumps, her nerves still on edge.

"Woah, you good?" the question is expected but no less upsetting, as it meant she didn't look as neutral as she hoped. Not feeling like responding, she just grunts and makes to follow the others, knowing the dwarf would be quick to follow.

**\- - -**

Haven was a walled-off village tucked away in the mountains. It only offered shelter for fifty refugees and soldiers, maybe less, keeping it quiet and unassuming - a place one would overlook as a target when larger, more populated structures stood not a day's travel in any direction.

The walls themselves were improvised from whatever materials the Chantry and its people could spare. Structurally sound, it did its job well enough, considering it lacked proper masonry work to reinforce its wooden skeleton.

While it didn't make Asazli feel particularly safe, it was all they had and would have to work well enough to keep all seeking safe harbour within, from the war beyond the walls. She was ready to defend it for all it's worth if her skills are needed.

Cassandra, Varric and Solas were all quiet as they made their approach; the Seeker focused more on the ground than on Haven. Asazli has never seen her nervous before. She suspects that the headstrong warrior made appearances a priority when it would sacrifice her public image of respect and strength to show anything less.

Asazli supposed that admitting the same aura of hopelessness, despair and fear she knew all the survivors held up in Haven's walls were experiencing, would only make matters worse.

Solas held only a neutral expression - one Asazli often saw - leaning on his staff as they come to a stop before the wall. Varric keeps his eyes on Cassandra - her shaken state making him seem just as rattled as a result.

"Solas, I want you to collect Leliana. Have her meet us in the war room as soon as she is able" Cassandra speaks up before anyone else has the chance. The elf only nods, using his weapon as a walking stick, likely tired from their journey. It only amused Asazli; the idea of someone using such a powerful, unstable weapon as a method for stability because their feet might hurt made her chuckle quietly.

The Seeker then turns to Asazli, allowing Varric to slip quietly behind her without instruction. Silence weighs heavy between them as they stare each other down, neither really knowing what to say. The Qunari can practically see the wheels turning in Cassandra's head. Finally, the woman's accent rings out, though her voice's strength had lessened considerably from when she last spoke.

"You will be meeting us in the War Room immediately, I would suspect."

Asazli nods slowly with a stout "indeed," voicing her agreement on the subject. Her eyes laid elsewhere from the Seeker as she turned to leave, grumbling to herself. The Qunari instead chooses to watch after Solas' departure, still stewing over what they had spoken about before their final travel back to Haven. Kariha comes back to the forefront of her mind, curling her lips down into a frown.

_Memories._ Even now, they were a fickle thing as the Fade rained down on the world of the living. Thoughts and memories spilled over alongside the corruption, madness and magic. Thinking back, she could describe Kariha to anyone, and yet her face now slipped her mind, her sweet voice deaf on her ears. She closes her eyes, allowing herself to breathe and collect her thoughts before she is tossed right back into the thick of this crumbling reality.

The walk to the Chantry was one to dread if only for the villagers milling about undoubtedly having something to bother her with. Either that or she would be met with passing scowls and hateful whispers behind her back when they think she is out of earshot.

The training grounds along the path would be the only stop that wouldn't bother her, the clang of metal on metal, contrasting against the bark of orders while wind creaked in old wooden structures, rustling nearby cloth tents all making her long for home. The voice yelling above all the rest had always been enough to make her stomach tighten on approach. Commander Cullen sounded awfully similar to the leader of her training unit back during her time with the Qun, but the Commander was seemingly occupied elsewhere as his Lieutenant was the one currently shouting mercilessly at the recruits. If she wasn't being expected elsewhere, she would've jumped in to add her own voice, correcting a few glaring errors she could see at a single glance.

The War Room was another place she didn't mind being in, as she could get lost just as easy in mapping out battle formations or discussing war tactics. Being a warrior in the Qun gave her a mind for such skills, her training specifically tailored to the inevitability of war - between demons and the living, or mages and Templars, it didn't matter as the Qunari didn't leave anything to chance. Amusing then how chance had it so that both became a reality alongside each other.

Why fate had it that it existed in a Chantry of all places, was beyond her. A place of worship was hardly a place for military planning, and the people that lay within were the farthest from military leaders as they come. It disgusted her to see such potential for power being put to waste. Which is why she needed to be part of the discussion for what to do next, with no exceptions.

The Inquisition war room was a small pocket that existed in the very back of Haven's Chantry, meaning the glaring of Chantry sisters wasn't something in short supply as Asazli passed through. If there was one thing the Qunari woman did enjoy about the building, however, was the aura of serene calm it held within.

Only the auburn glow of firelight illuminated the main hall, lit candles lining a rolled out carpet leading to the hall's far end much like a shrine. Banners hung along the walls, adorned with the sunburst symbol woven in golden thread. Tall wooden pillars gave structure to the high ceiling and accompanying archways and rafters. It was by far the most robust building in Haven, withstanding earth-shattering events leading all the way back to the Hero of Ferelden's time ten years ago.

Asazli's attempt at admiration for the building is cut short, an Inquisition messenger practically shoulder-checking her as they charge by, disappearing into the room at the end of the hall. Puzzled by the rush, she follows, slipping into the War Room just as the messenger moves back out, parchment no longer in hand, mumbling an apology as they push past her, wide brown eyes meeting Asazli's for a split second as they stumble off.

Shaking her head, Asazli swings the heavy wooden door shut behind her. She scans the room to acknowledge those present, only accounting for two of the expected four. Crossing her arms, she sighs. She's not known for being a particularity patient individual, her eyes once again surveying the room, this time more out of irritation than mild curiosity.

A torch dances a warm glow over muted stone brick walls. Large shadows cast across the heavily carved and durably build wooden table sat in front of the few members of the Inquisition that bothered to gather. A woman, only half Asazli's massive stature, stood across from her patiently. Half of her caramel skin is illuminated by the dim flicker of a candle melted onto the corner of her writing board. Her smoky green-brown eyes regarded the Qunari woman with interest. Asazli averts her gaze, watching the dot of flame atop the candle with faux intrigue.

The air in the room is heavy with unsaid thoughts, Asazli's nerves sliding closer and closer to edge with every moment that passes. The woman's charming Antivan accent cuts through the silence like a sharp blade through butter. "I am relieved to see you return unharmed. We've all heard about what happened with the Lord Seeker."

Asazli doesn't respond, choosing instead to avoid focusing on Cassandra's distressed pacing, which caused her nerves to sit just on the edge of panic. She was already fighting anxiety, twisting like a snake through her veins.

Time seems to stretch endlessly, although it does help when Cassandra huffs out a long breath, stopping to hover above the war table, head down as if she was examining the contents of its surface had her eyes not been screwed shut. The report delivered by the messenger not long before crumples in the raven-haired woman's grip.

When the Seeker finally speaks, her voice is low, and her words are barely eligible. "Thank you, Josephine. I'm glad you've already received the news. Explaining those horrific events would have been challenging, to say the least."

The Antivan Ambassador smiles weakly in an attempt to lighten the mood. However, the effort is fruitless as the heavy wooden door just behind Asazli swings open, light from the other side chasing away the room's shadows for only a moment as the two expected advisors step inside.

Commander Cullen shows first, a grim look drawing down the features of his handsome face. The scar on his upper lip slopes into his frown, his eyes cool and sour as they turn on Asazli. His hand rests casually on his blade at his belt.

Leliana is the next to step inside, the Spymaster closing the door behind her. The woman wore a mask too thick for Asazli to see past - likely due to years of practice in playing The Game - her ginger hair mostly hidden under a hood while loose strands fell into her haunting blue eyes. They held so little emotion, it was unnerving.

Asazli herself receives no greetings or welcomes as she had from Josephine a few moments prior, the Commander and Spymaster rounding the table to stand at the Ambassador's side, across from their Qunari leader and her Seeker companion.

"Have the Order completely lost their minds? To fall to corruption so quickly and without even a fight...," Cullen exclaims, unbelieving that what happened at Therinfall had really been a reality.

Cullen stops just before he reaches her line of sight, stubbornly focused on the wall just behind his head, though she doesn't require his expression to know of his upset - it sang loud and clear in his voice. He takes those extra few steps forward, glaring at no one in particular, hand tightening where it rested on the hilt of his sword.

"They were all under the influence of red lyrium, so yes, they have lost their minds," Asazli does little to hide her resentment of those she's been told to try and save, her tone echoed by a low growl. Why would she ever wish to save an Order that gave in to chaos and corruption so easily? Such a thing would never have happened under the Qun.

"How could a demon have made a fool of them so easily? They're trained to fight possession and corruption."

"The Envy demon knew what it was doing. The Templar Order isn't to blame here. Not for the demon, anyway" That part was accurate, at least. Asazli's eyes meet the Commander's for only a moment before he chooses to angle his glare back on empty space. Her words snap something in him; however, as he rounds on her not long after, his glare finding its mark. She is hardly shaken at his attempts at intimidation.

"Then why did you disband them?"

"You did not see what they had done, Commander" This time, Cassandra speaks up, surprisingly coming to Asazli's aid, backing up the decision despite how much she very clearly hated it.

"Even still, the decision should've been the Inquisition's, not yours alone" If sighs could kill, everyone in the room might've dropped dead upon Cullen's long, irritated exhale.

"There was no time. The Order was in chaos, we had to shape it going forward or risk losing it entirely. They will be able to rebuild under the Inquisition banner better than they ever could on their own, with the state they were in". The tactical choice was often Asazli's favoured outcome, and this time was no different.

"I would've preferred willing allies, but the Order put their trust in our Herald. Surely that's what we wanted?"

Josephine's voice is small but determined enough to get her point across. She remains neutral in tonality and body language, keeping any opinions she may have had to herself.

"Yes, we need them to help us seal the Breach. It doesn't matter how we get them to do so," Asazli can't mask her delight to finally be hearing a voice she could acceptably get behind and back up. Sure, Cassandra had agreed with her, but her only intention was to further stir the pot, while all Josephine wanted to do was regain some peace.

The Ambassador's efforts are rewarded with the rising tension in the room being sliced in half, giving her a second wind of relief.

"It does if we start _another_ war instead of forming an alliance!"

Just not for Cullen, evidently.

"Enough, it is done. We cannot change this now. Arguing about it will get us nowhere and certainly won't change anything," finally listening to what Asazli had told her, Cassandra brings the room to a chilling silence for a few stressful moments. The Seeker turns as if to start pacing the length of the room once again.

"A few dozen veterans are coming ahead of the rest to help seal the Breach" thankfully, another voice aims to break the tension, this time provided by Leliana, who has stayed out of the argument thus far.

Asazli lets out a low, heavy sigh into the following quiet. "How long until these veterans arrive?"

A split second passes before all the oxygen is sucked from the air, tightening every muscle in the Qunari's body. Not a single soul in the War Room can react before a smoky figure is conjured in the centre of the heavy wooden table sitting as the room's centrepiece. Whispers of faltering existence echo through the area, spiralling between the cracks in the walls themselves.

A loud crack shatters the stillness, the suffocating air relieving its pressure to give way to a plume of darkness spreading from the person now crouched low on top of the war table.

"They're almost here. Templars don't like to be late."

The figure, who speaks in a voice that rings in a familiar tone to Asazli, offers information, only to be met with well-deserved distress. Cassandra and Cullen round the table, weapons hissing as they're pulled, sharpened steel glinting in the dim torchlight.

Josephine let's out a startled yelp, fumbling a few steps back. Leliana doesn't even flinch.

"Maker!" Cullen exclaims, Cassandra quick to do the same.

"Wait!" Asazli moves to stand as a wall between the Commander and the Seeker, effectively blocking the young man, now entirely clear of any clinging shadows, from the pointed blades, flashing with the murderous intent to kill. They refuse to back down.

It takes a mere few seconds for Asazli to recognize Cole. If not for his oversized hat or dirty, rough-looking clothing, the loud snapping sound that accompanied his ability to slip between this world and the Fade - reminiscent of crackling lighting playing off of booming thunder, was a dead giveaway.

As she takes the chance to look closer, she knows there's no mistaking it. He still wore that downtrodden, solemn expression that drew down his features, like it flattered him best. She figures that may be true, given everything he said to her at Therinfall. He spoke adamantly of sadness, despair and anger, even as he was attempting to relieve her of the chains within her mind.

His eyes, staring up at her from the space under his hat, were dull and haunted, same as before. Although this time, they glistened, making him seem less ethereal and more grounded within reality as something real and human - however strange.

She picked up on the lack of determination she had remembered seeing in his expression before, noting that his steely gaze had given way to something softer and more approachable. Innocent even, like a wide-eyed puppy dog trying to lure someone closer.

Perhaps he was just trying to make himself seem as little a threat as possible to soothe those ready to attack at a sudden movement.

"I came with you to help. I would've told you before, but you were busy", Cole's voice was even softer than his eyes, smooth even with the rather thick Ferelden accent.

Asazli notices the war table piece he held in his hand as he fiddles with it - the only sign of nervousness she can pick up off him. He's clever; he won't dare to show if he is frightened likely in a slight endeavour to seem more reliable. Less shaken by danger or threat, perhaps.

"You followed us in secret, Cole? All the way to Haven?" Asazli grits her teeth, jaw tense as she tries to suffocate her anger before it has the chance to simmer.

That feeling, like long claws ghosting trails of eyes down her back, sending shivers creeping up her spine, was one that made focusing difficult and anything that took away from her ability to be an excellent and clear-minded warrior, she despised.

That constant itch in the back of her mind, like she was being watched, made her believe she was losing her mind. Anger boils in her chest despite her efforts to suppress it.

"Yes. It's easy to make people forget you when they don't expect you to be there", his tone is matter-of-fact but far from monotone, the cadence of his words sounding almost fluttery as they fall.

"Call the guards!"

Cassandra sounds beyond irritated, but not as hostile as Asazli would have first thought. Even Cullen seemed to be somewhat willing to listen to what the mysterious young man had to say, likely because the Herald clearly knew or at least recognized what he thought to be a stranger. She couldn't blame him - Cole definitely was... strange.

Josephine only stood uncomfortably, entirely still as if she was afraid to move. Leliana watched on from the sidelines with piqued interest.

"Off the war table, Cole. Now"

He nods once in response to the Qunari's command, placing the piece gently back into its place on the table. "Yes, I don't belong here. I'm not a war."

He leaps gracefully from his place, observing Cassandra closely from under his hat, head tilted down to shield his eyes from view. She notices that he keeps a safe distance from both the Commander and the Seeker, remaining close to Asazli, however not uncomfortably so. She figures that he was accustomed to people generally finding his presence chilling or frightening, meaning he had to adapt, picking up on where to stay for people to either not be bothered by his existence or not notice him entirely.

"This creature is not what you-" Cassandra continues, eyes hard set on Cole. Even more so when no guards answer her call.

"A moment, please, Cassandra. I would like to hear why he came," the Spymaster's voice was thick with piqued interest. When Cole's eyes flicker momentarily to acknowledge Leliana's presence, Asazli's curiosity gets deepened. Something sparked in the young man's gaze when he did so - recognition as if he was seeing the woman for a second or third time rather than a first.

Did he know her?

"You help people. You made them safe when they would've died. I want to do that. I can help", his hand was raised as he spoke, but not in a matter that was threatening or defensive. In fact, the gesture seemed giving; a movement someone would use to offer something. For an odd reason, it made him seem more harmless in Asazli's mind, despite how pessimistic and distrusting she was of nearly everybody's intentions, always on her guard for an attack.

Irritation flares within her. "Why help us?"

He's quick to answer as if the question was expected. "The hole in the sky is too loud for spirits to think. It's pulling, pushing out pain. I want to stop it."

His head tilts only slightly so he can meet Asazli's intense glare, his eyes flashing with a strange form of excitement that adds a genuine edge to his words.

"How altruistic of you," Cassandra remains skeptical, grumbling with her weapon still glaringly bright, even in the room's dim light. Asazli only realizes she was staring at the young man when his eyes break their contact to glance at the hostile woman.

"I want to help. I can be hard to see, I can kill things that would hurt people. I-I won't get in the way" the stutter is brief but does not go unnoticed - the first sign of nervousness the boy's let slip. It doesn't do much to retract from Asazli's decision, Cole's eagerness to stay and help as he had done before at Therinfall more evident than any other emotion to pass over his expression.

"Fine," she finds herself accepting without another thought. "But if I find your lying..."

The warning has the full weight of her confidence behind it as she knew she would not hesitate to kill him should he start harming innocent people.

"I won't be in the way. Tiny, no trouble, no notice taken unless you want them to" a relieved smile lifts his voice back up, the anxiety she heard before being nothing but a fading memory.

"You're not honestly suggesting we give him run of the camp?" Cullen finally speaks up in bafflement. All heads turn to see the Commander backing off, contradicting his unconvinced tone with his blade's return to his side.

"Not freely perhaps, but it seems a waste to-" Josephine, a gentle smile playing on her lips reasons, only to be interrupted by the loud cracking sound of before, Cole fading into the shadows and seemingly out of existence right before their eyes. "Hold on!"

Only the ghostly whisper of the Fade echoes in the place where Cole once stood. Cassandra, her blade finally being pushed back into her belt, stands ready to draw it again already.

"Where did he go?" the Seeker inquires as to if the others would know any more than she did of the situation. Asazli bites back a laugh. "It's a good trick. You get used to it."

Playfulness flashes in the Spymaster's eyes, even if only for a fleeting moment. "We should see if he could teach it to anyone else. I'll have people watch the boy," she continues, opening her mouth to say something else only to be cut short by Cullen. "Do not let him be a distraction from the Breach. We'll need your help when the Templar veterans arrive. Take time to prepare while you can."

His tone is firm, but missing that fire she remembered blazing behind it when he had spoken to her before. He turns, unwilling to hear anything more of what anyone had to say.

Asazli takes a deep breath to collect her thoughts, her eyes on the table as the others make their departure. She hears Josephine's gentle, "Herald," as she exits, as well as Cassandra's note of advice before the door closes heavily.

The only one she didn't hear leave is Leliana, who approaches her just moments after they are left alone, her shadow blocking the torchlight enough to draw her attention back up. "Asazli, a word?"

"What is it, Leliana?" she grumbles, trying to sound the least annoyed as possible, to no avail.

"We have a matter we must bring to your attention."

This catches her intrigue. "We?"

A silent beckon for her to follow is all she receives as a reply, and she does so without thinking, walking aimlessly behind the Spymaster with not a hint as to where they're going. A few members of Haven's Chantry greet the former Left Hand of the Divine as they cut across the main hall, passing through a door that Asazli knew led down into the bowels of the Chantry, despite never having explored the dark and dank dungeons herself.

She idly wonders who they may have already locked up before Asazli arrived within the Inquisition, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dimly lit cobblestone halls that oozed with a thick, clear liquid she hopes to be melting ice. The air was heavy and smelled of moss, lichens and mould. People would not choose to meet in a place such as this without sufficient need for privacy.

The main room is where they stop. Cells made from decrepit steel bars are lit only by a few lanterns hanging from the dripping ceiling, the other more significant few left cold and dark. A part of Asazli isn't surprised when Varric steps out of a dark corner, the raised hairs on the back of her neck telling her that someone had been watching their descent into the tunnels.

"Okay, very ominous. What's this about?" Asazli tries to make herself more comfortable, crossing her arms to retain some needed warmth from the constant damp crawling on her skin. From the grim expression on both the dwarf and the Spymaster's faces, she knew this topic was not discussed lightly.

"You are aware that mages have been going missing in Ferelden for months now, yes?" there it was. The Qunari had seen Leliana's reports on the subject, likely against her knowledge or desire to keep such delicate information hidden.

"Yes, Cullen brought it up to me when I first arrived. I was the one who gave the order to start setting up scout posts to watch any wandering apostates. And I saw your reports," she admits, although Leliana's expression doesn't even shift in the slightest at the confession.

"Indeed, I have my men scattered throughout Ferelden; however, I did not bring you down here to discuss the information we already know."

Asazli eyes Varric briefly, curious as to why he was here when all he has done so far is stand in a position that matches the Qunari's own, scowling at the floor, then the wall then the floor once more. "Then tell me what's going on."

"Before you made your journey to Therinfall, I was gathering word from my scouts about possible spies within our outposts and the heart of the Inquisition itself."

"If you were suspicious for weeks, why not interrogate your scouts until they gave up all they knew?" if Asazli had known, it would have been the first thing to be done, considering how dire the situation really is.

"We couldn't risk spooking the one who sent these spies, lest they go into hiding or send word of our investigation into the matter regarding the missing mages," Leliana explains, sadness and regret flashing in her eyes only briefly.

"Has the situation changed?"

"Indeed it has," the woman nods slowly. "My scouts have been watching an elven woman travelling through the Frostback Mountains a little closer than the others. One of my men informed me when he was assigned that he recognized her from somewhere but couldn't place the location or reasoning as to why."

"Turns out he's a fan of the _Tale of the Champion_ ," finally Varric speaks up, offering his piece of information to the discussion. "After a little help _,_ he was positive the mage was Winter, one of Hawke's friends. She lived with Merrill for more than half her time in Kirkwall before going missing somewhere near Tevinter."

"Why didn't you just go and get her from the mountains if you knew who she was? Recruit her for the Inquisition?" another decision that would have been made if Asazli were to be in command at the time. Again, it is shut down almost immediately.

"The Inquisition was not an official group at this time. We were still scrambling to find someone to lead us, _guide_ us, namely the Champion" Leliana spits the words like they tasted foul on her tongue. "But since Alice disappeared after Kirkwall's Chantry was blown up, she was impossible to find in time."

Asazli could hear the frustration in her voice, likely pent up from when this was still an issue. For a split second, the prideful part of herself dares to ask if they were happy they had her rather than Alice Hawke, the great Champion of Kirkwall. She shuts the question down with another - one much more relevant to the situation at hand.

"You're saying that these mages were going missing even before the Conclave and the Breach?"

"Indeed, meaning our scouts had spies collecting information from the very beginning" the sour tone makes its return, Asazli's head nearly spinning with how many emotions pass across Leliana's face at one time before disappearing completely, leaving no evidence of the whirlwind that had hit her moments before. She's beginning to query if it's solely her training that had allowed her to see the slip in Leliana's facade in the first place, or if this situation was really hitting her that hard.

"Once you stabilized the Breach, we had both the time and the resources to collect her; however, the first night Winter was being properly watched by my men, they were killed and robbed by what we can only assume was a group of starving bandits."

Once again realizing how off-track her train of thought had gotten, she elects to put the timeline together in her head to piece things one event after another. "How long ago was this?"

"A group of Redcliffe villagers found the scouts dead and reported it yesterday, but a healer claimed that they have been dead for as long as two weeks. Winter would have disappeared around the same time the scouts were murdered" the Spymaster explains, Varric once again listening on from the sidelines.

"So she's been missing for two weeks?"

"Yes, but here's the strangest part. Ever since Winter went missing, there haven't been any more reported occurrences. It's almost as if the one who's been taking all of these mages finally got their reward."

A shiver runs down the normally unshaken Quanri's spine. She crosses her arms more solidly over her chest, taking a quick glance down to Varric, who looks just as shaken. She wants to ask after his relationship with this "Winter," considering she was a part of his book and followed Hawke around just as he had. She focuses back on Leliana, deciding to ask him about when they were alone, when he might be more willing to spill information on the subject.

"That doesn't sound promising," she comments instead, shards of ice layering sharp and cold over her tone.

"No, it doesn't. That's why we mentioned this to you. We will need help to get to the bottom of these disappearances. Hopefully, if we're lucky, we'll save a lot of lives," Leliana sighs, head bowing with a hint of defeat.

That's not the part that Asazli was concerned with, only a byproduct of her real goal of finding and weeding out these spies Leliana has mentioned. She sighs and plays along. "How many has it been since the first?"

"Twenty-six that we know of"

"And what does this have to do with the spies in the Inquisition?" Asazli asks eagerly, trying to round the conversation back to where she wants it.

"It gives us reason to believe that the one who sent these spies is also responsible for the missing mages," The Spymaster explains, and when she doesn't receive a word of response, she continues on. "My scouts were watching Winter closely. There was likely a spy within that group who reported that they had spotted the one they were looking for."

Varric chuckles gravely, suddenly behind Asazli and nearly making her jump. "That or all of this is just Andraste pulling coincidental bullshit out her ass."

Leliana quells a smile. "Yes. Optimistic viewpoint, Varric."

Asazli gives an overexaggerated sigh, unsure as to exactly why they were dragging her further into all of this. A few reports here and there were enough for her, especially when all it would take to ascertain the spies would be to interrogate the scouts in secret until one of them spilled and then kill them.

"You are both capable enough to deal with this on your own. Why does this concern me, exactly?"

Varric takes a moment to glare at her, exchanging a couple of glances with Leliana before deciding his answer.

"We both know you couldn't give two shits less about saving these mage's lives, but we also know that you enjoy knocking heads together any chance you get. We need an interrogator. Someone willing to clean out the scout problem, the messy way. Someone willing to take up any leads we find and get the information we need, even if it means spilling lots of blood."

The dwarf read her mind. Maybe he _was_ really as clever as people claimed.

"So you want someone to do the dirty work you are both too good for?" she can't help the smile that snakes across her face. Her arms drop to her sides, her hands absentmindedly clenching into fists. "Where do we start?"

"Ruffles thinks she's got a lead somewhere in the Storm Coast. His name is Dale Lunette. We need you to go and see what you can get out of him. He's an abusive shithead too, so no need to be gentle, not that it's in your vocabulary anyway" the last bit is added as a mumbled afterthought, but it was one Asazli couldn't deny regardless. She never saw the point of taking things slow or cautious or calm when she can get everything needed to be done, done with a few broken bones and messy scraps with undisciplined barbarians.

"I'll be following some other trails that Josephine picked up in the meantime. Varric is utilizing some of his underground contacts to see what he can find as well."

"It's not much, but it's a start" Varric turns away, still very aware of the Qunari's eyes focused on his back. "Sometimes that's all someone needs."

Leliana twists to follow her dwarven friend, offering Asazli a polite nod of her head as she sweeps past. "Thank you, Herald."

Asazli simply stares in return, muttering a low, "Your efforts to save these mages better turn up results and not be a complete waste of resources, Spymaster."

She adjusts the sunburst crest hidden below the hooded scarf hanging low around her neck. "Have faith, Asazli."

She manages to stop herself from rolling her eyes, glaring at the woman as she trots up the stairs, racing after Varric. Asazli takes a moment, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes as she lets the breath shiver out of her lungs.

Blinking to adjust back to the absence of proper light, she makes to turn when her muscles lock up, freezing her in place.

Something shifts in the darkness. It's fleeting, and nothing more than a break of the dust in the air, but Asazli cannot mistake it. Something was watching her. Again.

She listens, the steady drip of water cascading down the nearest wall pricking her ears. Her breathing echoes back to her in unsteady pants. She didn't feel frightened or nervous, but the sweat she can feel cooling her brow tells her otherwise.

"I know you're there," she tries. "Get out here."

Nothing. Even the water goes placid. It's quiet enough that Asazli could hear the smallest crumblings of rock cracking off the wall and rolling to the ground. She doesn't know how long she waits for something to happen - anything that would tell her she isn't losing her mind.

Again. Nothing.

Thinking back to how this same twist in her gut and itch on her neck kept haunting her journey back to Haven, Cole's face comes to mind, a flash of a fading memory. He was the one following her, making her feel watched the entire trip.

In a last-ditch attempt, she calls out into the darkness, "Cole? You down here?"

Once more, her only response is her own voice echoing off the walls.

She huffs, returning her sword to her side, unaware she had drawn it in the first place. Her pulse thrums in her ears, blood cool in her veins. Even still, the air felt off, like standing right next to a tear in the Veil or a fissure in reality.

She shakes her entire body, trying to shrug off the eyes she can feel burning into the back of her head when she turns. The Breach must be getting to her.

A deep scowl shading her features, she rushes up the stairs, not even trying to hide her eagerness to see daylight again and have people around to watch her back.

The door closes slowly behind her with a low clank of metal on metal. All is silent. Still.

A figure materializes in the darkest corner, face concealed in shadows drawn out by a large hat even as he steps into the misted lantern glow. "I'm sorry," he whispers to himself. "You would have hurt me."

Eyes dilated, he scans the hall, finding purchase on the wall farthest from the entrance. A narrow, winding tunnel snakes off the cell closest, an escape route not yet filled, weeping with memories of blasphemers and heretics pounding against the worn walls and digging for freedom. Determination flashed in his gaze, gleaming through the darkness.

"And this is too important."

Something was calling to him, from beyond those curving tunnels, and from beyond Haven's walls. Something even further beyond the mountains encircling the village. Or someone, to be exact, a light burning inside of them like stars in their head. _Winter_ , Varric had called them.

He knew what he needed to do.

Fading back out of reality, he dissolves into nothing more than an idea forgotten in every mind he passes. A light blinks at him, sparking amidst an abyss of pain and sadness and death. It draws him in - carves a path.

Taking one last glance back at Haven, he yields to the pull and allows it to guide him back into the cover of the mountains, where he creeps, eyes set on a light he knows others cannot see - the light in Winter's soul glowing as it cries out to him for help. She just didn't know it yet.


End file.
